My Fair Gentleman

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  “You?”

  “I wonder if I should leave London for a time. He seems to finally have adjusted to the idea that he must marry, and he is rather looking forward to inspecting the flock tonight, I believe. I’m finding it much more difficult than I would ever have imagined to consider . . . it.”

  Sophia turned Ivy’s gaze back to hers with a finger under the chin. “Ivy, you are not leaving London. We have a girls’ home to design and affairs to manage.”

  Ivy flushed. “Of course, I would never leave you to do it alone, I just . . . I don’t know. My feelings are all a muddle.”

  Sophia smiled, and Ivy didn’t like the look of it. “I’m certain they are.” She linked her arm through Ivy’s. “Come, let us fetch your darling Nana before the evening grows late.”

  Ivy’s mother had been correct; the Norringtons’ ball was an absolute crush, and Ivy was certain that Lady Norrington would be the talk of the ton for the remainder of the Season. The weather outside was splendid—neither too warm nor too cold—and the three sets of double doors leading off the ballroom to the back gardens were thrown open to invite a gentle breeze scented with lilacs and roses. It was the perfect evening for romance, and Ivy was absolutely dejected as she stood next to Sophia, Jack, and Lord Anthony Blake, who looked none too thrilled to be there himself. Ivy wondered why he had bothered make an appearance—perhaps he was finally going to heed his mother’s wishes that he settle down.

  “That one, you say?” Jack asked, motioning his glass of punch toward a group of giggling debutantes across the room. “The one in the center wearing pink?”

  Ivy fought to keep from gritting her teeth. “Yes. Clarissa comes from a very suitable family, although the pink does little for her complexion, I must say.”

  Blake nudged Jack in the shoulder. “Perhaps if you ask, she’ll let you inspect her teeth.”

  Jack snorted and grinned with Blake, who really was too handsome for words, Ivy thought with a scowl. He and Jack, standing side by side, were everything that was masculine and desirable and slightly roguish, which lent them both a lightly dangerous air that many a young woman would find appealing. Ivy wouldn’t, of course, and she sniffed and turned her attention away from the pair who thought they were so clever.

  Sophia took a sip from her punch and eyed Blake as well with one brow cocked. Ivy wondered if her friend had also noticed the charm the man exuded. It sparked a bit of interest that took Ivy’s attention momentarily from her own pouting as she wondered if Sophia might be interested in Lord Blake. It certainly bore more reflection, and she tucked the thought away for later examination.

  “Or Elizabeth Manning.” Ivy caught Jack’s attention with a slight tilt of her head toward a beautiful young woman with a head full of thick, blonde curls. “She is also very suitable, and her father is a marquess. She comes with a sizable inheritance, I understand.”

  Jack looked at Lady Elizabeth Manning and tipped his head to one side in apparent consideration.

  “Eyes are a bit too big for her face, however,” Ivy muttered under her breath and took a swig of her own drink as Sophia choked on hers.

  Jack looked down at Ivy, and when she met his gaze, she very nearly dissolved into tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you?” he said.

  She shook her head. “It was nothing. You know, Jack,” she said, setting her drink carefully on a passing server’s tray, “you can have your pick of the lot. Any one of the single young women here is eligible and would make a lovely countess.”

  “I may have my pick of the lot, you say?”

  She nodded stiffly and decided it was time she find Nana, who had gathered with some of her friends in the corner farthest from the orchestra, when she noted several heads turning in their direction, and she saw the unmistakable signs of women whispering behind their gloves.

  “What . . .” she murmured and narrowed her eyes as she realized many of the people in the room were looking at Sophia.

  “Blast,” Ivy said under her breath. She knew the vicious bite of gossip when she saw it, and it was now directed full force at her friend.

  Chapter 29

  The bite of gossip can be painful, and one should make

  every effort to abstain from participation in it!

  Mistress Manners’ Tips for Every-day Etiquette

  What is it?” Jack whispered.

  “I’m not certain.” Ivy linked her arm with Sophia’s and leaned over to her, whispering in her ear with a smile. “We are happy, and we are sharing the funniest of stories.”

  Sophia smiled and laughed with Ivy, looking for all the world as though she hadn’t a care, but Ivy felt the tension running through her friend, and it made her angrier than she could ever remember feeling.

  It was time for damage control. Ivy looked to the corner where Nana sat with her friends, only to see her grandmother making her way to their side of the room with Ivy’s mother and father in tow. She straightened her spine, determined to defend the Elliots to her dying breath, even if it meant her own ruin. Perhaps she could move into the Elliot-Carlisle Home for Wayward Girls.

  Ivy’s mother approached with a winsome smile and extended both hands to Sophia, who disentangled her arm from Ivy’s.

  “My darling Miss Elliot,” Ivy’s mother said to Sophia loudly enough that several nearby clusters of gossip mongers couldn’t help but hear, “it is so very good to see you again! And might I say it is just too bad of you to have visited only four times. You must come for tea tomorrow, for we have so much to discuss.”

  Ivy bit her lip to keep her mouth from falling open. Sophia had been introduced to her mother briefly at the funeral, but had certainly never visited them at the Carlisle home. Nana, who had arrived on Ivy’s father’s arm, leaned in to Ivy and whispered, “Lady Finster seems to have an issue with our dear Miss Elliot.”

  Ivy smiled at Nana and glanced around the room, seeing the venomous expression of Lady Finster, who stood near the opposite wall. She was looking at them with a murderous glare, and as Ivy glanced over the rest of the room, she saw the gossipers’ expressions change from painful snickering scorn to surprise at the Carlisles’ clear acceptance of the Elliots, to nods of approval.

  Of course Lady Finster must have been in the wrong, they would all be saying to each other. The Carlisles held with only the very best of families—why, even their daughter’s scandal could barely touch their good name!—and Lady Finster was well known to be spiteful anyway. And hadn’t she been bosom friends with Mrs. Clista Elliot, who had tried to have the new earl killed?

  As strains of music indicated the beginning of a new quadrille, Lord Anthony Blake made his way to Sophia’s side and bowed low before her. “Might I be honored, Miss Elliot? I do hope this dance is not already spoken for.”

  Sophia smiled at him and curtseyed, handing Ivy her glass of punch and placing her hand in Lord Blake’s. Her reputation was now fully protected. Blake’s family was old, respected, and ridiculously wealthy, which counteracted his proclivities for putting on rakish airs. His mother would certainly not approve of him dancing with anyone less than worthy of the Wilshire title, so Miss Elliot must be up to snuff.

  As they moved onto the dance floor, Ivy breathed a sigh of relief. “As scandals go, that was relatively quick,” she murmured to Nana under her breath.

  Ivy’s mother straightened her cuffs and brushed at an invisible fleck of dust on her sleeve. “You spend inordinate amounts of time with the girl, Ivy,” she said under her breath, “and it would hardly do for your name to be sullied because of an association.”

  Ivy’s heart softened a fraction, and she looked closely at her mother. Gently clasping her forearms, she leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Mama,” she said.

  Lady Carlisle couldn’t have looked more surprised had Ivy slapped her full across the face. She cleared her throat and nodded, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Of course,” she said stiffly, but Ivy noted the subtlest softening in her mother’s expression, and she
determined to be a bit more patient with her, express more warmth at home.

  “I do not necessarily approve of this endeavor of yours,” Lady Carlisle said with a sniff, regaining her perfect composure after throwing a quick glare at her mother-in-law, “however, I do suppose charity is a worthy endeavor, and so long as we have no scandal, I will not keep you from it.”

  She spoke of the girls’ home, of course, and coming from Ivy’s mother, this much was a vow of glowing support. Ivy nodded. “You will be most proud,” she said.

  “I find that I am already,” Lady Carlisle said, and before Ivy could fully digest the compliment she’d been paid, her mother was off across the room at the excited bidding of one of her friends who was simply dying to show off her daughter’s new gown.

  “What’s that?” Ivy’s father said to a passing crony. “Yes, a drink would be just the thing. Mama, Ivy.” He bowed and left them in favor of escaping the room, which grew more crowded with each passing moment.

  “ . . . how I ever produced such a dull child,” Nana was saying, shaking her head at her son but wearing a reluctant smile.

  Ivy’s attention, however, was on Jack, who had nodded at her and was making his way across the room, apparently to ask for an introduction to Elizabeth Manning. She watched him move, with his easy grace and broad shoulders that slipped through the crowd as smoothly as he must navigate the movement of a rolling ship, and realized her chest positively ached. Drat it all, he had told her that she would be thinking of his kiss as he courted other women, and he’d been right. The thought of him kissing Elizabeth Manning had her wanting to claw that young woman’s eyes out of her head.

  Placing a hand to her heart, she wondered if it were possible to die from extreme emotion, and before she could disgrace herself with tears, she murmured a quick excuse to Nana and left the ballroom for the front hall.

  Taking a few deep breaths, she chided herself soundly for behaving like such a ninny when she was getting what she wanted, after all. She had insisted that Jack see his family successfully launched into Society and find himself a bride. He was apparently more than halfway there, and she had nobody to blame but herself. He hadn’t expressed his feelings for her again since returning from the coast, and she knew better than to hope for something that simply wouldn’t be.

  People continued to trickle in the front door, and Ivy was just wondering if she might be able to simply slip away unnoticed when Clarence Fuddleston entered, looking rather harried.

  “Mr. Fuddleston!” Ivy rushed to his side and pulled him into the hall when the butler moved to bar the entrance. “What is it? Is it Mrs. Elliot?”

  “What? No, no, Lady Ivy. It . . . well . . . I must speak with his Lordship.”

  Fuddleston respected well the rules of Society, and he would never have come to the ball if it weren’t urgent. Ivy guided him to the small parlor to the right of the door and glanced inside, grateful to see it empty.

  “I believe he is dancing, sir.” Ivy frowned. “I know it is certainly none of my affair, but is it something to which I might be privy?”

  Fuddleston nodded absentmindedly as though lost in thought, and he looked out at the hall full of people. “A stipulation,” he said and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief, which he used to wipe his forehead. “I found a stipulation in the old earl’s documents that allows for Jack—or rather, his Lordship—to return to a life of his choosing once he has successfully situated the estate affairs.”

  Ivy’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at the small man. “How . . . where . . .” For a young woman who prided herself on articulation, it was a pitiful display.

  Fuddleston shrugged, and Ivy realized the man looked quite miserable. “Buried in the main document, forty pages deep. Mr. Stallings wrote it, and I don’t know that the old earl was even aware. Perhaps Stallings thought to use it to his own ends. But either way, his Lordship is free to go. I thought to tell him before he, well, he had mentioned something about a proposal, but if he is going to leave . . .”

  The man looked at Ivy then, and she realized what a sad pair they must appear. Mr. Fuddleston had found a friend in Jack, and she was impressed with the fact that he was willing to show the discrepancy to Jack at all. He could very well have left it hidden with nobody the wiser.

  Ivy drew herself up, eyes closed for a moment. “You are right to tell him, sir.” She placed a hand on his arm, and he lightly covered it with his. After a gentle squeeze, he released her and quietly left the room.

  Telling herself she had been right all along to try to protect her heart, Ivy waited alone for a few moments in the parlor before going back out to the hall and again into the ballroom. Fuddleston had hailed a servant, who made his way across the floor when the dance ended. Ivy could just see Jack through the crowd and then lost him again as people shifted and moved for the next dance.

  There were too many people, too many dresses, too many drinks, too many fans, too much of everything except air, and Ivy felt nigh unto exploding. She tried to shove her way back out into the main hallway but found the egress thoroughly blocked. Turning around and dashing past Lord Hovley, who put a finger in the air as though to speak with her and then looked after her in bafflement, she wove through the throngs of people to the garden doors.

  Once outside, she took a deep breath and bit her lip as her eyes brimmed with tears that she knew for certain she would no longer be capable of restraining. Rushing down the twisting path, she hurried past benches and romantic spots where a young couple might catch a moment to discreetly hold hands and whisper while an understanding chaperone turned the other way with a smile.

  There was a gazebo—she and her mother had had tea with Lady Norrington early in the Season outside in the shade of the charming structure, which was walled with climbing vines and lilacs and housed comfortable chairs with fluffy cushions. Desperately hoping nobody was in it, she ran up the steps and crossed the length of it, grateful beyond words to be alone.

  She sank down on a bench and finally allowed her grief free reign. The sobs came hard, and she placed the back of her hand against her nose, her tears falling hot and soaking into the satin fabric of her glove. He would leave . . . of course he would. Why would he not? It was what he had always wanted.

  And Ivy loved the sailor so much she feared her heart would break from it.

  She lost track of time, immersed in her sorrow, shoulders heaving. When she felt someone place his hands on her arms, she gasped in surprise, pulling away reflexively.

  “Ivy,” Jack murmured, not releasing her but pulling her closer instead. He was kneeling by the bench, his legs entwined in her skirts and his handsome face so very close to hers. “Ivy, you must stop.” He placed his arms around her and pulled her against him.

  “Then you should leave me alone,” she cried against his chest, hating that he was witness to the most humiliating moment she could imagine. “Please, just leave.” She clutched his shirtfront, tightening her fingers into fists until it hurt.

  “Ivy, what is it?” He rubbed his hand slowly across her back and up to her neck, where he massaged gently with his thumb.

  Sniffing and wiping her nose very inelegantly with her glove, she pulled back a bit and looked at him through blurred eyes, gratefully accepting the handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “You,” she said, sounding shaky and sad. “I . . . I . . .”

  She looked past him as the dratted tears continued to fall, dully registering the fact that she would be beyond ruined if they were discovered. “Maybe I should plan on moving into the girls’ home when it’s finished,” she said flatly and folded the handkerchief, again wiping her nose.

  “What?” Jack laughed, and she glanced at him.

  “My reputation will be in shreds if anybody—”

  “I told your Nana to follow me.” He gestured outside the gazebo with his head. “She’s out there, protecting your virtue.”

  Ivy’s lips twitched. “A fat lot she can do about it out there.” She sniffed aga
in. She took a deep breath and placed a hand at her waist, collecting herself and devising a plan to leave by skirting the house on the outside so she wouldn’t have to traipse back through the ballroom.

  Jack’s hand against her cheek chased away all thoughts of escape as he caught her attention and, when she tried to look away, turned her back again. “Why are you out here crying as though your heart were broken?”

  “My heart is broken.” She cursed silently as her eyes filled yet again.

  “Why?”

  “You’re cruel, you know. To force it from me is cruel.”

  “I need to hear you say it, Ivy.”

  She huffed as the tears fell down her cheeks anew. “I love you, Jack. You know that I do, and you are going to marry someone else or at the very least leave because now you truly can. Fuddleston is here, you know, with a message.” Her heart tripped again at the memory of the solicitor’s revelation.

  Jack nodded. “I spoke with him. Just as I saw you making a mad dash out of the ballroom.”

  “So he told you, then. You’re free to go.”

  Jack smiled at her and shook his head. “When are you going to believe me, Ivy Carlisle? I am not returning to the sea. It is a part of my life I will always appreciate, but I have work to do here: at the country estate with the tenants, and with you and Sophia and the home for wayward girls you apparently feel you might have to move into.”

  “Jack, I watched you in the maritime museum. You just . . .” she shrugged miserably, “you glowed when you spoke of it, of your dreams of commanding your own ship.”

  “There is much about that life that is less than wonderful, my sweet, but when I believed that such was my only course of action to support my family, it was enough. But now I have a different ship to command, and a much more compelling reason to remain on solid ground.”